


Grinch

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Meludir tries to tame a disgruntled Caranthir, back from Dale during the holidays.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “scrooge” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/153917135000/my-holiday-themed-bingo-under-cut-you-can-make).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Silmarillion any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He doesn’t expect to be summoned and so has little time to prepare, but he’s attended guests for centuries and still manages a decent look. His sheer blush robes falls easily into place, and he doesn’t bother with shoes, instead simply throws a silken cloak around his shoulders to hide his body through the halls. He finger-combs his hair on the way to his destination, and by the time he’s there, the guard stationed outside gives him a glowing look full of lust. Meludir smiles at the silent compliment, but Feren coughs and warns him, “Be careful—his lordship is not in a pleasant mood.”

This lord is hardly ever in a pleasant mood. Meludir still responds cheerily, “He will be when I am through.” Feren smiles fondly, though the disbelief lingers in his eyes. He raps on the door on Meludir’s behalf, and a muffled growl answers, which Meludir takes for permission. Feren must too, because he pulls the door open for Meludir to slip inside.

The wide room is lit by the fireplace but nothing else, casting long shadows through the orange-tinted haze. Lord Caranthir, having just arrived, is standing by that fire in the midst of unfastening his cloak. As soon as the door’s closed, Meludir sheds his own. It falls slickly to the floor, and he steps free in only his lace-rimmed camisole. This is a far more elegant duty than the archery he conducts by day. He enjoys this more. He waits to be commanded, but when Caranthir only continues wrenching off his cloak, Meludir makes an executive decision to drift towards the bed.

When he’s just taken his seat along the end, Caranthir growls, “You were fast.”

“I was told when you were spotted on our borders,” Meludir responds, voice infinitely lighter than Caranthir’s deep drawl. “My king did not wish to leave you without entertainment for the night.”

“No,” Caranthir grumbles as he sheds his jacket and the armbands below, clamped like armour atop his tunic. “Thranduil does seem rather dependent on _entertainment_.” It’s spoken harshly, begrudgingly, but Meludir quiets and doesn’t concur. As much as he reveres this living legend, so renowned and legendary, all the way from Mandos’ halls, he remains loyal to his king. 

Daring to speak out of turn in favour of changing the conversation, Meludir notes quietly, “You returned quickly. ...Forgive me, my lord, but had you not meant to visit Dale...?”

That’s done it. Caranthir whirls on the spot, and it gives Meludir a chance to see the anger surging across his handsome face. With clear restraint, he hisses, “I did, but I did not realize they were celebrating a holiday.”

Completely not understanding the fury there, Meludir quips, “How lovely.”

“It most certainly was not,” Caranthir snarls. Meludir almost physically jerks away. With an irritated noise and five long fingers brushing back through his ebony hair, Caranthir turns to pace across the carpet. “It was the most absurd, vapid, foolish thing I have ever heard of! The second I was in their midst, I was affronted with the most awful excuse for ‘music’ I have ever had the grave misfortune to overhear! And I was assaulted, not once, not twice, but _four_ separate times by drunken fools who wished to kiss me, of all things! When confronted, they each pointed to an infestation of leaves above our heads, as though it in any way excused their madness!”

Meludir says a polite, “Oh,” and really has nothing else to add. Indeed, he had no idea Men were so... _strange_. It does sound dreadfully unpleasant. Nothing that two warm bodies couldn’t overcome, though, and Meludir reaches one hand out in the hopes that Caranthir will take it and join him on the bed.

Caranthir glances sideways at the movement and does storm over, but only to plop down on the edge of bed, out of Meludir’s reach. He bends to start pulling off his boot and rages on, “Worst of all was the supposed _purpose_ of it—I was witness on several unfortunate occasions to individuals pawing rudely at one another for gifts, not only completely undeserved, but garishly wrapped. The entire thing seemed an exercise in greed!”

Caranthir gets both boots off and kicks them away, while Meludir tries in an inviting purr, “You do not condone the exchanging of presents? And here I had come to gift you something quite special...”

Caranthir glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, “At least _that_ is not so inappropriately wrapped.”

Meludir lifts both honey brows and plucks at the lace tie of his camisole. The two sides are pulled together by a little bow at the top, the ends of which trail evenly down his chest. Both his nipples are tenting the barely-there fabric; the fireplace provides heat, but not enough to counter the cool night air. He’d much prefer _Caranthir’s_ body heat. His thighs do more to cover his lap than the cropped robes do. Caranthir’s eyes fall to where Meludir’s playing with that bow, and he snaps, “That is _entirely_ different.”

Meludir coos, “I wrapped myself up like this, just for y—”

But Caranthir’s turned around again to glare at no one in particular and continue harping, “It is nowhere near the same idea— _you_ are not using the date to justify the donning of an atrociously designed sweater or a vulgar crimson dress with absurd white trim that barely covers your legs!”

Meludir’s camisole barely covers his thighs, let alone the rest of his legs, and he doesn’t wear a stitch of clothing underneath. He waits to make sure Caranthir’s done for the moment, then crawls forward, purring demurely, “You would not like me in such a vulgar display...?” When he reaches Caranthir’s strong back, he places his hands on Caranthir’s broad shoulders, and palms his way firmly down the front, draping over one side to eye the chiseled chest he drags his hands down. He presses his face against Caranthir’s cheek, trying to tempt Caranthir to turn for a kiss, but it gets him nowhere.

Caranthir has remembered something else to take issue with, even quite far away and safely embedded in a more familiar culture, and mutters, “And the extent to which they catalog one another! They are arbitrarily judged as either good or naughty, as though there is no state in between, and if they are naughty, they get none of these presents, while their mislabeled peers are showered in them!”

With a soothing chuckle, Meludir asks, “Is _that_ why you are so upset, my lord? Because you have been naughty? I assure you, my present is still entirely yours...” Caranthir’s chin swivels fractionally over, and Meludir takes the chance to peck the corner of his lips. When Caranthir turns enough, Meludir bends forward, his long hair cascading over his smaller shoulders, and they finally meet for the full, proper kiss that Meludir’s been craving; Caranthir kisses with such _fire_. He practically sears Meludir’s lips with the heat of it, the force of his tongue overwhelming, the pressure divine. Caranthir surges into Meludir with unbridled _passion_ , and all of Meludir’s practice and skill falls away in favour of just moaning and soaking it in. When Caranthir pulls away again, Meludir whines and tries to follow. 

“Even for all your sweetness,” Caranthir growls right into Meludir’s ear, “by Men’s standards, you are naughty, too.” His tone is low, but some of the annoyance has fallen from his eyes. He’s _almost_ smiling. He shifts his body, and Meludir shuffles back, giving Caranthir room to turn onto the mattress.

Then Meludir sighs, “Let us be naughty together,” and pulls his grumpy lover down atop him.


End file.
